Page 93 of Sack

Ivy wasn’t in a rush so waited for the mad dash to thin before standing.

“Ms. Clark?”

She turned her attention to Mr. Anderson, standing by his desk. “Yes?”

“Can I speak with you a moment?”

Uh oh. Being singled out wasn’t usually a good thing. Her feet dragged a little as she made her way to the front of the class.

“Don’t look so worried,” he said once she stopped a few feet away. He smiled reassuringly. “I noticed mine is the only class on your schedule.”

He’d pulled up her schedule? “Yes.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?” Leaning against his desk, he folded his arms. The muscles in his forearms flexed, visible from the pushed-up sleeves of his Henley.

“Did you know, Henley shirts got their name because they were the traditional uniform for rowers in the English town of Henley-on-Thames?”

“No, I didn’t know that.” He smirked and Ivy felt like an idiot.

But not enough of one to stop her from blurting, “Yeah, and the first Henley Royal Regatta was in eighteen thirty-nine.”

His smirk grew into a broad smile. “Are you ignoring my question?”

She hiked her bag strap higher onto her shoulder. “Sorry, I just spout random facts sometimes.” A habit she needed to break as only Colt seemed to find it interesting.

And there he was, back in her thoughts. Again.

Mr. Anderson raised his brows. He was waiting for her to answer.

“Sorry,” she repeated, then pursed her lips. Why did she keep apologizing? She took a breath, centering herself. “What was the question?”

“I’m curious why you’re only taking one class.”

“Oh, right. Well, I do plan to take more. I took this one to kind of test the waters. I wasn’t sure if I’d enjoy painting or if I’d even be any good at it.”

“So, this is the first painting class you’ve taken?”

“Yes. I always meant to in college, but my schedule was too full to squeeze a class in for fun.”

He nodded as though that made perfect sense. “And how are you enjoying it so far?”

“I’m loving it. I can’t wait to start painting next week.”

“You don’t need to wait until next week. I’m usually here most evenings until at least nine and my last class always ends at six. You’re welcome anytime to work on it.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. I work all hours, so my schedule is never set.”

That seemed to interest him, his posture perked up. “What do you do?”

“I’m a graphic designer.”

“So, you have an art background.”

“Yes, just not a real one.”

A line appeared between his brows. “Real?”

“Yeah, you know,” Ivy waved her arm to sweep the classroom. “With paint and easels. Tangible.”

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